What is Taken
by bytheseaside
Summary: Everyone knows Palpatine liked to play mind games with his underlings, but how far did the ones with Mara go? LukeMara Updated from prologue to chapter 3.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer – **Send no money, now! (the author is not legally entitled to it).

**Notes – **OK, I've seen this done before, but not quite the same. I may have one or two shocks planned ;o)

This is _not_ my first fic, but it is a different style from what I'm used to, so I'm posting under a sock. Please tell me what you think.

Thanks to my awesome beta Michele!

* * *

Mara Jade would not live forever. She was an excellent operative, and did her job very well, but in the end she was mortal. He toyed with the idea of having her cloned and transferring her sense, her essence into a new body each time she showed signs of slowing down, but decided that he didn't want to risk it. The process was dicey, particularly when performed on others. You never knew if you were going to lose something. For a Force-sensitive, such as Mara, there was a lot of damage that could be done.

Besides, doing so might alarm her enough that she would begin to question him. No, what he needed was a succession of beings he could raise from a young age. There would always be Force-sensitives around he could use, but they were not necessarily powerful enough and were becoming rarer. What he needed was a sure thing.

Slowly a plan began to form in his mind. Mara Jade was a powerful Force-sensitive, the likes of which he hadn't seen since he'd laid eyes on Anakin Skywalker as a ten year old boy. Only Anakin's son showed signs of rivalling his father, but Mara came close. Anakin's _son_. Yes, very nice. Luke Skywalker would come to him soon enough. There was plenty of bait around to tempt the boy. In the meantime, and if by chance he had to have the boy destroyed, he needed a back up plan…

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_A few weeks later_

…Mara Jade slipped out of the bed of the nameless man she had met the night before. He continued his drunken sleep, snorting loudly and rolling over onto the place Mara had formerly occupied. She wondered what had possessed her the previous evening; he was hardly worth the bother. Yes, this last mission had been tough, but she didn't usually fall into bed with the first idiot she came across. Well, nothing could be done about it, now. Besides she would be expected back at the Imperial Palace within the next hour. She left trying to dispel the last few distasteful memories of the previous night…

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_The next day_

…Mara woke to find herself in a strange room. She almost looked over to see if there was a man lying beside her, as the last time she'd woken in a strange place there had been. When she managed to fight through the final hazes in her brain, she realised she was in a medical centre. _What?_ Moments later a young doctor entered her room and explained there had been an accident. She would be all right, but she should stay in for observation for the next day or so. She had herself released an hour later…

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_One month following_

…Mara knelt on the floor at the feet of her master, head bowed and, for the first time in her life, trembling. He would not be pleased at the situation she now found herself in. How could she be so stupid? She awaited punishment.

To her surprise, it never came. Instead, her master expressed his displeasure then told her of how she could best serve him: by giving birth to the child that she was carrying. Had her training been any less, her mouth would have fallen open. She had expected to be ordered to rid herself of this affliction immediately, had wanted to be ordered to destroy it. If she hadn't been so sure he would find out anyway, she would have just gone ahead and done so herself.

She would not raise the child, which was one thing at least…

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_Eight months later_

…Mara was young and healthy and had been expected to deliver her child by more or less natural means. The physical healing would have been faster. However, things had not been going well, so at the last moment it was decided to sedate her and perform a surgical birth…

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_In a few hours_

…Mara woke, for the second time in nine months, groggy and in a medical centre. She was no more happy than the last time she had done so. Her mid-section ached and she remembered the event that had caused it. Sitting up slightly and wincing at the pain, that caused she looked down at her shrunken belly. Lying back she expected to feel relieved, but all she felt was vaguely empty…

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_In seven years' time_

…Mara found herself thinking of her child clearly for the first time since its birth. She had wondered briefly through the years what had happened to him or her. During the Emperor's life her thoughts of it had been murky and faint, she wondered now if he'd deliberately clouded her memories on the matter. After his death she'd been obsessed with killing Luke Skywalker and had rarely taken the time to wonder if she should find it and raise it. Now, she had completed Palpatine's final order and killed Luke Skywalker's clone, and she found her thoughts returning to the baby that had been taken from her. Maybe she should look for him or her…

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_Nine years later_

…Mara woke slowly, curled in a ball; her whole body ached from sleeping all tensed up. She took a moment to familiarise herself with her apartment on Coruscant. She had been dreaming of her child again, the nameless, faceless, even sexless being she had carried for nine months and then given up, without a thought, for her former master. Her pillow was damp and uncomfortable from the tears she had cried in her sleep, but for long moments she could not bring herself to move.

Every year that went by it became harder. Initially, she had searched and had hoped she would be able to locate her child. As time passed however, and she could find no sign of him or her, she began to believe she never would. Occasionally she felt as though she had never had a child in the first place, only the faint scar on her abdomen allowed her to believe otherwise. Now and again when she thought she had accepted the fact she would never locate her child, something would happen and she would be forced back to feeling desolate.

Normally, on this day, too, she would be sure to be extra busy. This was always the worst day in the yearly cycle, and for once she had no plans. She curled herself tighter into a ball, only to shoot out of bed and to the refresher. She retched over the sink, but nothing emerged; she had been unable to eat the day before. There was a deep pit of loneliness inside her and she was not even permitted this purge.

Slowly and wearily Mara began her day.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm nasty, aren't I? Where is Mara's child and what twists am I going to throw at you? What do you think so far?

**Outpourings of delight, furious rages, and constructive criticism all welcomed with open arms!**


	2. Chapter One

**Notes:**

Thanks to my awesome beta Michele!

**WARNING – **There is violence in this chapter, of the abusive husband kind. Please take note of this warning, I don't want to upset anyone.

* * *

Mara wandered through the markets, not really paying attention to her surroundings. She wondered what it would have been like to drag her screaming child along trying to buy groceries while he asked for sweets, or she begged for the latest holozine. Would she have even coped as a mother? That was a question she had asked herself often. Maybe her child was better off where he or she was, and not having Mara Jade, Imperial assassin, as a mother. 

Paying little heed to where she was going, Mara collided with someone. Normally, she would have taken a moment to chew the person out for not looking where they were going and stormed on her way. Today she just didn't have the energy. Shifting slightly, she prepared to continue, when someone said her name.

"Mara?"

She knew that voice.

She looked tiredly up into the concerned face of the Jedi Master. "Luke," she said with finality. When she attempted to keep going, he caught her arm. She knew she should have shrugged him off, and threatened to cut off his natural hand with his father's lightsabre, just to even things up, but she couldn't find the strength. She spared a thought of annoyance – it was just typical that on the one day she needed to be alone, Skywalker would find her.

"Mara, are you all right?"

She wanted to bite back acidly, but couldn't.

_No_. He must have heard her answer through the Force, because she certainly wouldn't have said it aloud. She hadn't meant for him to hear it at all, yet he had.

Luke shifted his grip on her arm and guided her unresistingly through the crowds. Undoubtedly, they received more than a few stares – Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade – but the people were busy and both the trader and the Jedi Master were well known in these parts. No one bothered them. He led her into a café, and ordered them both strong cups of caf.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently. He sounded as if he were speaking to a terrified child, and a distant part of Mara railed against it. Most of her, though, just sat there and concentrated on lifting the cup to her lips. She pretended to sip it, doubting whether her stomach could handle the liquid.

"Mara?"

He was obviously very worried, and she wondered what she looked like, or what her Force sense felt like to him.

She set the cup down and heard herself answer him dimly, "My child turns sixteen, today." The words snapped her consciousness back and she realised what she had said. She had said the words _my child_ for the first time ever, she had said them out loud and she had said them to the Jedi Master. Horror flooded her, bringing her to full consciousness. She leapt to her feet, the chair banging down behind her and raced for the door. The sound of breaking porcelain reached her ears, but it sounded out of place, so she paid it no heed.

At the table Luke shouted after her uselessly. Paying no attention, Mara didn't slow – she had to get away.

* * *

Luke shifted painfully. He'd been sitting outside Mara's apartment all day and the floor, while carpeted, was very uncomfortable. But he was determined to wait for her. His stomach growled and he spared a thought to wish he hadn't told his sister he'd be missing dinner tonight. It was well past then, and Mara still hadn't shown up. He stood, walked to the corner and back, sat down and continued to wait. 

Mara was still on Coruscant, this much Luke knew. He was counting on the fact that she'd want to return here before fleeing anywhere. So, after paying for the cups of caf, Mara's broken cup, and then a little extra to the harried café owner to soothe his nerves, Luke had come straight here. He needed to talk to Mara about what she'd said before she'd run off.

"_My child turns sixteen, today."_ He'd had a lot of time to analyse that particular statement. And still it sent icy waves through his veins. Mara had a child. That wasn't what bothered him. It was the fact that he had known her for almost ten years and he hadn't known this. Judging by Mara's expression though, he was pretty sure that most people didn't know it. He did not doubt its validity; her pain and terror had been too real.

_Sixteen_. He was going to assume years old, as opposed to months. That would mean the child had been born back when Mara was part of the Empire, when she was the Emperor's Hand. This did not reassure him in the slightest. In fact, it was what upset him the most. Palpatine would have been unhappy, to say the least, if his best operative had to take maternity leave. It might also explain the whereabouts of the child. The Emperor had removed him or her for his own ends.

_Turns_. Implied that the child was still living, or that Mara perceived her child to be alive. He did not think that Mara was unstable enough to believe her child to be living if she had evidence to the contrary. It was possible that she simply held on to a piece of the child, even though he or she was dead. But Mara was not the type to dwell. If her child were dead, Luke was perfectly willing to believe she would feel the need to recognise his or her birthday – privately at any rate – but he very much doubted she would go further.

_My child_. Not _my son_, or _my daughter_, but _my child_. A strong possibility existed that Mara did not even know the sex of her baby, or at least he felt it would be safe to assume such. Again this pointed to the Emperor having the child removed after birth. The only thing worse than his best operative having a child was his best operative raising a child. He may have been willing to allow or arrange for others in his service to be in this position, but Luke suspected that Mara would be a very different situation.

This was Luke's interpretation. He had no idea how right – or wrong – he was. For all he knew, he could be way off, but something, probably the Force, told him he was pretty much on target. Mara had had a child while in the service of the Emperor, and had been forced to give him or her up. Now she regretted the loss and it was affecting her adversely.

Footfalls. A brush against his Force-sense. Mara. He strengthened his shields. It wouldn't do for her to sense him here and decide it wasn't worth coming home after all. She rounded the corner and he stood. He felt a sudden burst of panic from her, quickly covered by anger.

Luke was relieved to see that while her skin was still too pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes, she'd lost that dreamlike, vacant look she'd been wearing when he'd stumbled across her in the market place.

"What are you doing here?" she snarled.

"Waiting for you, I was worried." He tried to express his concern without trespassing on her, or making her feel like he pitied her.

"I'm fine."

"I don't think you are." He was treading on dangerous ground here. "Look, Mara, what you said this morning…"he trailed off uncertain what else to say. How did you approach a subject such as this one?

"It was nothing. I don't know what got into me. I'm fine," she said, a little more forceful than was convincing. "Now, leave me alone." Her tone sharpened, and he could feel the underlying heat, the anger. She was warning him, telling him to go away. Unfortunately, Luke had never been very good at taking warnings, even when it came to Mara's temper.

"It was obviously not nothing. You were very…upset." She was not giving him any clues, other than her anger. He knew he needed to help her. Knew it with an urgency he didn't understand, but accepted anyway.

She placed her hand on the door release, and snorted. "Upset? That's one way of putting it." She entered her apartment and before he could follow, shut the door. He was left standing in the same spot he'd spent the day. He was aching, hungry, and worried. The only difference from the rest of the day was that Mara was now on the other side of the door.

"Jade!" He tried to pitch his voice so she would hear it, but he would not disturb her neighbours – he'd gotten enough strange looks form them today. Wouldn't do for the locals to think the Jedi Master had lost his mind or – force forbid – he was having an affair with Mara. _Mara?_

"Go away!" Well, if this was overheard, the neighbours were definitely going to go with a theory on quarrelling lovers. He could only pray the tabloids didn't get wind of this. _Leave me alone, Jedi!_

_Let me in, Mara. I can help._

_How? He stole my child from me, and you think you can _help_? Go back to the farm, Skywalker._ So that, at least, confirmed part of his theory. The child had been born while Mara was the Emperor's Hand.

_Let me in, Mara, please. _He was begging. There was a long pause, in which she didn't answer. He thought she'd decided to ignore him, and he was about to call out to her, when her door slid open. Silently, she stood aside and let him pass.

Neither of them spoke for long minutes. In the small kitchenette, which was kept almost surgically neat – she didn't cook often – Mara prepared him a cup of caf. Luke was grateful for it, as he hadn't finished his one from the morning before she flew out of the café like a startled wild-thing. Since then, he'd had nothing to eat all day.

As she passed him the cup, she was careful not to let her skin brush his, and he sunk into an armchair. She sat on the couch opposite and stubbornly refused to look at him. She did not have a cup herself, and he wondered if she'd had anything to eat at all today. Deciding that she hadn't, he wondered when she'd last eaten. The trader was looking small and worn, thinner than he remembered.

Fingers finding a cushion, Mara fiddled for a moment, then seemed to realise what she was doing and abruptly snatched her hands back. The cushion flew from her grip at the violence of her action and landed on the floor. Her skittishness was so completely out of character, Luke nearly started.

Before meeting Mara, he'd thought his sister was one of the calmest, most collected people he knew. Then the former Emperor's Hand had breezed onto the scene, or rather: raged. She'd done furious hatred so smoothly it was outwardly hard to tell when it ended. He'd come to believe bad temper didn't necessarily mean violence. Although, strangely it seemed to come with threats of bodily harm.

Looking up at Mara, he could see she looked faint and hazy, as she'd been that morning. Whatever she'd done to appear closer to her usual self was gradually fading. The scared, confused, and grieving Mara was coming back. Before he could remember that it was of the darkside, anger and hatred coursed through him. It didn't feel calm and collected, but then, inwardly, it never was. Releasing his negativity – aimed at Palpatine – to the Force, he took a deep breath.

"Mara?" he said softly, yet still it sounded too loud in the overwhelming silence.

Her gaze snapped to his and he could see the wild-thing look in her eyes. He wondered if she was going to bolt, but she just pressed herself into the couch, warily watching him. Did she think him a predator?

"I don't want to talk about it," she said stubbornly, but then it wouldn't be Mara otherwise. Normally by now, his temper would have been heating at her reticence, but tonight he couldn't bring himself to be angry with her.

Nevertheless, he knew she should talk about it. She obviously wanted or needed to talk about it. Earlier she had unthinkingly told him about the child, a few minutes previously she had been shouting at him to leave and yet she'd been the one to let him in. She was both asking and refusing. He resisted the urge to rub his temples. Talking to Mara was a little like flying through an asteroid field, you knew you were going to hit something and you knew it was going to be cataclysmic, but you had to stay in one piece as long as possible.

If he gave her the standard, 'I think you need to talk about it', she'd either threaten to kill him or at the very least never speak to him again. Saying nothing would accomplish nothing. Sure, Mara might be able to recover herself somewhat, and even go back to functioning at something near her usual level. He was willing to bet, though, that this time next year she would go through something similar, if not worse. He could try and trick her into something, however he doubted it'd work. She might appear faint and confused, but he didn't want to test it.

He decided to go with a combination, "You're not having any caf?" When in doubt, avoid the subject.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Caf isn't exactly thirst-quenching."

"I. Don't. Want. Any." She was practically grinding her teeth.

"I was just checking, because you left your cup this morning; it was good caf." Actually she'd broken the cup, but he didn't need to bring that up. "Have you had dinner this evening?"

"No." Such a small word. Such a wealth of meaning.

He didn't change his tone, nor did he reach out to her through the Force or physically. He wanted to, but Mara would react badly. She did not like pity, and she preferred her space. "Have you eaten at all, today?"

"That's none of your business." Ice underlaid her words – she hadn't eaten. "Dammit, Skywalker, can't you just leave it be?" Anger, but grief too.

"No." Again it seemed impossible for a single syllable to carry so much weight.

A leaden pause. Mara breathed heavily, and Luke realised that she was not just angry and hurt, she was crying, too. When she flung herself out of her chair, he wondered for a second if she was going to attack him, storm out or both – but she did neither. Her back to him, she strode over to the window and stared out into the lights of Coruscant.

He followed her. They watched each other's reflections in the glass, neither willing to meet the other's gaze. Standing next to her, Luke could now feel the bone-weariness she was trying to hide. "When was the last time you ate, Mara?" This time his tone was gentler.

"Yesterday morning – it didn't stay down." Her answer sounded exhausted, as if she'd given up trying to fight his questions. No wonder she was so out of it, he was surprised she could walk straight.

"What happened, Mara?"

An infinitesimal pause, then, very softly, "I don't remember his name, but that's hardly important, it was only a one night stand." Luke realised she was speaking of her child's father. "When I found out I was…when I found out I was going to have a baby I was…" she trailed off and in the glass he could see the shadow-Mara frown as she tried to find the right word "…concerned. I thought Palpatine would punish me. Pregnant, I could do nothing for him. I expected to be told to be rid of it and go about my life – I _wanted_ to be told that. I wanted to kill my baby." She gave a dry sob, and he wondered if he should reassure her in some way, but she carried on. "He was not angry, he said he was disappointed, and I felt that disappointment, but looking back, I'm sure he was thrilled." _I'm sure he was._ "He said I was to carry it to full term, but I would not raise it. I was relieved, I didn't want to be pregnant, but I wanted to be a mother even less. I knew it would slow me down, and I didn't want to lose his favour."

Her words were becoming more bitter. The Emperor's Hand may have been horrified at having a child, but Mara Jade knew what she'd given up, and it was tearing her apart. "I went into labour, but something went wrong, I had to be sedated. When I woke up it was all over. No one said a word to me about what happened. I don't even know if I had a boy or a girl. _I don't even know if he or she survived!_"

Luke wanted to reach out to her, with the Force, with a hug, with anything that might give her comfort, but he knew of nothing that she would accept. As he watched her reflection, he saw her try to calm herself, and after a brief battle she succeeded.

"Palpatine was cheerful for a while after that, so I assumed everything was fine. I didn't give any thought to it until after…after the battle of Endor." When Darth Vader, or Anakin Skywalker, had destroyed Palpatine and had been destroyed in return. It went unsaid – both were all too aware of what happened that day. "Even then I didn't really give it too much time. Hatred is all consuming, you know." He did. "It wasn't until after Wayland that I truly began to wonder – and to search. But I never found any trace. Wherever he or she is hidden away, I can't find them."

Story finished, Mara stared directly ahead at his reflection, waiting for a response. He could see every muscle in her body was tense, alert. _Fight or flight,_ he remembered. "You can't be held responsible," he told her eventually, "you did what you had to." They'd been over that before, for other things. Rarely, though, had Mara learned to put the past behind her.

"Nice thought," she snorted, some of the old Mara showing through.

"Mara…"

"Doesn't matter, Skywalker. You wanted to know what happened, and now you do. For the record, there's nothing you can do. I've spent years searching and I've never even found the slightest hint." She pulled her old self over her, like a cloak. He was willing to bet she couldn't hold the illusion for long; she was too tired and too hungry.

Hesitantly, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I don't want your pity, Jedi."

"That's not what I'm offering, Jade."

"Then what?"

A challenge: what could he possible have to offer her? She was miserable and alone, so he doubted she believed there was anything anyone could do. She had truly searched for her child and not found any trace of him or her. To her, now, the child was impossible to find. Believing that the child was unreachable was what was causing this spiral of despair.

Looking up, he met her shadowed eyes in the window and found her watching him. In the glass she looked pale and tired.

Exhaustion settled over Luke, making him wish he could just sink into bed and sleep for months, sleep long enough to forget. Closing his eyes, he felt himself sway. A moment later his eyes snapped open as he realised it was not him, but Mara who was feeling this. He wondered anew how she was managing to stand upright.

"My help."

"I told you before, Skywalker, there's nothing you can do. He or she is gone and I can't do anything about it, neither can you. The only person who did is dead, and it's better he stays that way." She sounded defeated, but he doubted that she was. She might believe she was, but deep down beneath all those Force barriers a part of her lived in hope.

"The offer stands, for anything." She gave little in way of response, neither turning him away nor accepting. However, she met his eyes in the reflection, and he knew it was all the acknowledgment he would get. With Mara, anything that wasn't a denial was a start.

* * *

Taashi a'Tahm silently served her family dinner. The children accepted gratefully and began to eat with gusto. Edan watched her quietly for a few moments before starting. He didn't say anything, but she understood what he meant. 

She had just finished her first mouthful when her husband stormed in. She kept herself still though she wanted to flinch away. Wanted to hide. That wouldn't help the children, however.

Terror filled her at the thought he might hurt the children. She didn't think she could bear it if they were hurt – by their father, no less. He'd already started to cuff Edan, and that was painful enough. The boy was their ward, and didn't deserve this.

Edan wouldn't let her speak on his behalf, though. The only time she'd tried, Vestaii, her husband, had ensured she couldn't get out of bed for a week. For seven days she'd lain there, scared of hearing a thump and then a cry, or worse a thump and then nothing. He was such a strong man and the children were so small. Edan wasn't exactly big, either. At sixteen (it was his birthday, today, and she'd cooked him his favourite meal specially), he might be tall, but it was a gangly, slender height. He could handle himself in a fight, but so could Vestaii.

Edan himself had once tried to stand up to Vestaii on behalf of Taashi. The boy had been thirteen at the time, and Vestaii had just begun to slap her around. Edan had quickly learned that getting in the way of Vestaii's fists was inadvisable. Taashi had forbidden him from ever trying again. Later, when Vestaii had taken up hitting Edan on a regular basis, the boy had made her promise the same thing. Both quickly learned they could avert the man's anger from the children, so at least one of them needed to be available to do so.

Taashi would have done anything to escape, but she knew she could not. If she remained on planet Vestaii would eventually find her – he had the means, and humans stood out here. She could not leave the planet, as she did not have enough money to buy a ticket to the next system. Not enough transports came through for her to find somewhere to stow away on, or stow the children away on, in the hope the authorities would put them somewhere away from Vestaii. Once, she'd wondered if she could kill him, but non-violence had been stamped into her as a young child. She could fight, but struggled to use the skills even in defence of herself. Once she'd thought Vestaii felt the same.

"Why have you started without me?" he snarled, standing over Taashi. She didn't look up. Such a display of defiance – meeting his eyes – would not be tolerated tonight, she knew.

"It was late, the children are hungry. I thought it best to start so they can go to bed – they have school tomorrow." She kept her shoulders hunched and her eyes averted, waiting for his blow. His anger at her for not holding dinner was inevitable, but what could she do? It was already past the children's bedtime.

"I expect my family to do me the courtesy of waiting until I'm home for dinner. I work hard to pay for this family to survive, I should be given some respect for that." He didn't actually. The idea that his work was their provider was just a convenient lie he chose to believe in. Most of the family's money came from the furniture that she, and Edan as her apprentice, built.

Vestaii dragged her to her feet, and across the table Edan's eyes met hers. _If I could spare you this…_it was a dual thought. Hers and Edan's. But there was no protecting either of them from Vestaii. He was bigger and stronger and more willing to use his power than them. Taashi was still watching Edan, making sure he didn't interfere, as she was knocked over. Mid-air a sudden panic took her and before she hit the ground, she twisted. It meant that she landed badly, but the need to protect…over took her. She could not cushion the blow in anyway, if Vestaii found out…

Rolling deftly, despite a sprained wrist, she managed to get out of the way of his foot. Leaping to her feet she faced him, swaying slightly, his fist having hit her hard enough that she still saw stars.

"Leave her alone!" a voice shrieked and both Vestaii and Taashi turned.

But it wasn't Edan who had spoken up. Edan was quickly moving around the table to protect the speaker, Gala. _Oh no, not Gala. Force, not Gala_. Her daughter was only eight standard years old, she didn't need her father beating her.

Vestaii was advancing on the little girl, who was now being shielded by Edan, his face white. Taashi stepped in front of her husband. From his seat Levon, aged six, began to cry. "Vestaii…" Taashi put a hand on his chest, forcing herself not to flinch when he turned his gaze on her. He was as angry as she had ever seen him. "Be reasonable, she's just a child – she can't possibly know what's happening here."

"I know!" yelled Gala from behind Edan, who was visibly restraining her. "I know! And I'm going to tell the policemen and they're gonna take you to the Jedi!" The comment was enough and Taashi didn't have time to consider the strangeness of the threat; it took everything she had to kick out, to trip Vestaii before he could get to Edan and Gala. She didn't often fight back at Vestaii, but when she did she knew it caused him trouble, as she'd had the same training he'd had. She was just more circumspect about using it. _You shall not know anger…_

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Edan ushering a struggling Gala and a weeping Levon out of the room, though it mattered little now. Vestaii's temper had found a target and as long as none of the others distracted him, he would take it all out on Taashi. She only hoped he'd get over it quickly, and eat his dinner.

**

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Songs of praise, vicious attacks, and carrot cake all warmly received.**


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes --**

Thanks to the fantastic job Michele did with this! You wouldn't believe the silly little mistakes that I make!

* * *

_Dream Sequence_

Mara was sitting on a fence, and standing beside her was her son. Nearby a river bubbled over rocks, and wind whispered across the grass plains. In the distance, she could see some kind of gazing animals, but they were too far away for her to tell what they were. She and the boy were the only sentient beings as far as she could see.

"This is pretty," she said idly. The vague part of her that was aware of the dream snorted in disgust.

"Yes, I come here to think," her son answered, seriously.

"Where are we?"

"I can't tell you that. It would be against the rules."

So it would.

"What's your name?"

"I can't tell you that, either."

The rules again, curse on the rules, but she could not break them.

"Do you remember playing treasure hunt?" he asked, surprising her with the apparent change in conversation. Again, though, it was in keeping with the rules, and it was hard to focus here.

"I never really had the chance to play children's games," she reminded him dryly, wondering if he had.

"Oh, right," he said, frowning as if he'd forgotten, or had never known at all. "Anyway, you're given an object and you've got to figure out what it means and where it's leading you. Then you go to that place and find another clue that leads you somewhere else. And when you've found that clue you move on to the next place and so on until you reach the treasure at the end."

"You're the treasure."

"Maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Everybody's looking for something."

"Is that my clue?" she asked, a little sarcastically.

"No."

"Why can't you find me?"

"Because where I am, that's beyond my capability."

"So, what's my clue?"

"To find me you have to find my father."

He was perfectly serious. Her son didn't seem to have much of a sense of humour, but then maybe that was something to do with the fact that this place didn't exactly induce laughter. For his sake, she resisted the urge to snort. What kind of clue was that? _One that fit to the rules._

"Any help on that?"

"Sorry, I don't know anything about him, or about you for that matter. You know him, though."

"I don't." She looked at him for more information, but knew he couldn't give it to her.

"I wish I knew your name, so I could contact you." He sounded wistful and she wished she could comfort him, but that would be against the rules. They could not touch in this place.

"Here," he said suddenly and held out his hand. She turned her own hand to him, palm upwards and he dropped something into it. Lifting the object up, she examined it. A small stick carved with various beings and animals.

"It's beautiful, what is it?" She turned it over, admiring the fine detail, all traces of sarcasm gone.

"A dream stick. You put it under your pillow and it helps you remember and interpret your dreams. I carved it. I used to think it would lead me to you, maybe now it can help you find me."

Her eyes tingled and there was a lump in her throat as she felt something she could not identify. She nodded and the stick in her hand began to blur, until she could not see the detail; the carvings were rough beneath her fingers, letting her know the problem was with her vision, not the dream or the stick. In giving her this, even in the context of the dream, he had somehow transgressed the rules.

"Mom?" he said softly, and her whole being felt on fire and then doused in ice – no one had ever called her that. "You will find me, won't you?"

She could have reminded him that she had been searching for him for nine years and still hadn't found him, but knew it would be pointless. "Of course, I will." She had never meant anything more.

Everything was fading now, and she could no longer see him clearly. She found she couldn't remember what he looked like. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but couldn't make a sound. Then, with a rush, it was all over.

* * *

Reality came crashing back with a force Mara hadn't expected. It took her a moment to re-orientate herself to her room, and to who she was. Again her pillow was wet with tears, but unlike the previous morning she didn't feel overwhelmingly lonely. For the first time in a long while, she felt calm and rested. 

With a start she sat up and thrust her hand under her pillow, not completely sure why she was doing so. When her fingers brushed against something hard, she tugged and pulled out a small piece of wood with intricate carvings. It was a beautiful warm colour and she could feel the comfort it radiated. As in her dream it blurred and she realised she was crying – she could remember her dream.

The experience had been unusual, not normal. She had dreamed about her child before. Sometimes he had been a boy, and sometimes she had been a girl. Usually, though, the dreams were filled with anger and recriminations from a nameless, faceless child. Fingers were pointed, blame laid; a blame that she had taken willingly. It was, after all, her fault. This time there was no guilt, and the boy had simply wanted to be found.

Had it been real? Was it truly her child she spoke with? Did it matter? She had never spoken with him before. The stick seemed to attest that it had been real, and she hoped so. She would like him to know she was looking for him. It could have just been a representation of her child, though that did not explain the dream stick. Nor would a figment of her imagination. So, had it been him?

He had called her Mom. Nobody had ever referred to her as such, ever. In her other dreams the word _mother_ had been used as an insult or a taunt, but _mom_ had never come up. She sat there clutching the dream stick, going over every detail of her dream, but to her frustration she could not remember what he looked like.

Slowly she began her day. Shower, caf, a couple of pieces of toast – she went through the routines distantly, she had other things on her mind. "_To find me you have to find my father." _That wasn't a clue! How could she find his father? He had been a one-night stand, memorable only because it had gotten her pregnant. The man had been singularly unimpressive, and she could not remember his name, or even the name of the bar she had met him in.

Although, the question did arise in her mind, had Palpatine known? Her former master might have done checks, and if anyone had had the ability to find out the name of the man who had gotten her in this mess, the Emperor would have. She had searched for nine years for her child, she would have assumed that any information gleaned on his or her father would be with any information on him or her. She growled in frustration. He might have thought to help her, and maybe it was the only information the rules allowed him to give, but it was completely unhelpful.

About then, she realised she had a meeting to get to. Yesterday, she would have been thrilled at the distraction, today she wanted to sit here and find out where her child was. Gathering her things together she left her apartment.

Only to walk into the chest of Luke Skywalker for the second time in two days. He'd been waiting for her. She'd been an idiot to tell him anything the day before, now he wouldn't leave her alone. Maybe if she left the planet for a while he'd give up and forget. _Maybe banthas will fly._

"Do you sleep?" she asked in her best Emperor's Hand voice.

"Did you?" he said in return, apparently unperturbed by her tone.

"Actually, yes." She could tell her response surprised him, though he hid it well. It was true, though. She felt a thousand times better than she had the day before.

Luke noticed her appearance. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. The Jedi thought she was running away. It was tempting to avoid him, but in the long run it was impractical. He was the type to hang round like a bad smell.

Still, it never hurt to tell him to back off. By the time he'd licked his wounds, he'd have something else to bother about. "Away," she said as curtly as she could, adding as many layers of ice to her voice as she had in her.

"Where?" he asked in his soft _tell me_ voice. The one that made you want to confess all to the oh-so-helpful Jedi Master.

"Somewhere ignorant farmboys aren't," she said and moved off, down the corridor. Let him stew on that one for a while.

"Mara!"

She didn't bother responding. A part of her was very angry with herself for telling him what she did. Her child was her secret; it was not for anyone else to know about. Palpatine had stolen a very important part of her and no doubt he was sitting somewhere in whatever passed for his afterlife laughing at the pain he caused his treacherous ex-Hand. He would have enjoyed her misery very well.

* * *

Around mid-morning Edan was upholstering a chair when Taashi appeared. She'd been awake earlier, he'd heard her in the bathroom, but she'd evidently gone back to bed. 

He looked up apprehensively, but nearly sighed in relief when he saw her face. She was bruised, but she could still see. Often she ended up with one or both eyes swollen shut, which prevented her from being able to work. This time it was just a split lip, and a couple of bruises. They both knew a few healing techniques, but using them only annoyed Vestaii, so they were better to be avoided. She wouldn't be fit to see customers for a couple of days, but by the end of the week she'd be all right. _Provided Vestaii doesn't start after her again…_

Edan had sent the children to school, quietly. Vestaii had left for the spaceport, where he did minor engineering jobs, before any of them had risen. The older man worked long hours, and for little pay, but it was all that he had the manual skills for. Edan suspected Vestaii was jealous of Taashi and his own ability to carve wood and make furniture, but the man had never had the patience to learn. None of this explained or excused his violent temper, however.

Taashi moved a little stiffly, but not too badly. The movements could be attributed to someone who hadn't had enough sleep, and judging by what he'd heard last night, even after he'd finished fighting with his wife, Vestaii had kept her up. Edan did not understand why Taashi let Vestaii do _that_ to her. The beatings he could almost understand, because he too had learned it was better just to let the older man get it out of his system rather than fight back. The rest though, that amounted to rape. Edan had never broached the subject with Taashi, he couldn't bring himself to, but he knew she didn't want it. Publicly, whenever Vestaii touched her, even as a caress, Taashi stiffened and Edan could feel the fear and disgust coming off her. Vestaii ignored it.

She nearly collapsed into her own workstation and met his eyes guiltily. "Edan, I'm sorry, I should have been up earlier. I didn't mean to leave all the work for you to do—"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "I don't think there's much here to do, today." Then he noticed that her left wrist was strapped. There would be only a limited amount of work she could do, so it was just as well there wasn't a whole lot of it. The order would be picked up tomorrow, and it had been a big one. It was only the very last touches that needed doing.

She bent her head down to her paperwork, and he kept at his chair. The design was a complicated one, and he'd enjoyed it thoroughly. It wasn't often he got something that challenged him like this. He'd be sorry to see this go, but no doubt he'd get something else to work on within the next few days. The work he and Taashi did was well known across the planet and they got many orders.

While he carefully nailed the cloth into place, he let his mind wander – this part didn't need as much focus. Edan couldn't remember his dream from the night before, but he knew it was important, so he tried every recall technique he'd ever been taught. Yet he still could get no more information than he ever had about his mother – small insignificant detail which had no real bearing on the bigger picture.

Usually in his dreams, she was accusing and angry, or she laughed at him for hoping to find her. She was cruel and she had abandoned him. Last night, however, she'd been gentle. He knew that much. Or maybe not gentle, but certainly there had been something content about that dream; he'd woken from it comforted. It gave him hope that maybe she wanted to find him, that she might actually care about him.

He didn't know anything about his parents. Santo, who had been his first guardian, had said his mother had died giving birth to him, but Parteb, Santo's partner and later Edan's guardian, had said that she hadn't died. Parteb wouldn't say any more than that though, so Edan had never known if his mother wanted him or not. Nothing had ever been said about his father.

Edan had been born in the last years of the Empire, and until he was five – even after the New Republic had taken over – he'd lived on worlds that were under Imperial control. Then Santo had died and his partner had taken over Edan's care. Parteb had refused to train him in the ways that Santo had been doing so, saying that there was no Emperor anymore, so there was no point. It had apparently been an argument she had with Santo after the Emperor's death.

Edan still did not understand what that comment meant. Santo and Parteb had been Imperials, so they obviously hadn't been training him to fight Palpatine. But why would they be training him to fight for the Emperor? All Edan knew was that his training had something to do with Palpatine, and that just made no sense at all. What did the Emperor of a galaxy have to do with a Force-sensitive child who no one knew about?

Parteb had moved them here, to this out of the way planet, in a sector that was part of the New Republic. Here they had met Colm; his wide-eyed granddaughter with the pretty smile, Taashi; and her husband, the dark, but friendly Vestaii.

Colm's mother had taught her son in the ways of the Force and he had taught his daughter, and then later Taashi and Vestaii, the strange boy who had turned up one day. When he'd discovered that Edan was Force-sensitive he'd happily added him to his classes. Only Parteb hadn't been so happy about it.

Santo's death had released her from having to put up with the strange habits of a Force-sensitive child. She was determined to raise him to be normal. She'd died, though, less than a year after they'd arrived, and Colm had taken six-year-old Edan in. When he'd died five years later, Edan stayed with Taashi and Vestaii, and their two children, Gala and Levon.

Something trickled into Edan's thoughts and he looked over at Taashi, sharply. She had her head bowed and was concentrating on her work. Gently, he reached out and brushed her 'sense. She paid him no heed and the information he was looking for floated near the surface. He pulled back in surprise – she couldn't be, could she?

Of course not, he scoffed. If she had been, Vestaii would know and then they all would. But Taashi trusted Edan in a way she didn't trust her husband, and her shields were usually lower when Vestaii wasn't around, so maybe he hadn't picked up on it. This wasn't good news.

* * *

**I love to hear your thoughts, no matter what they are, but please make them coherent. Thank you.**


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes --**

_Thanks to Michele for the fantastic job she did on this!_

* * *

_Dream Sequence_

"He's not who you expect him to be."

"Huh?" Mara blinked in surprise, but she was dreaming again. Looking around her, she realised she was in a public garden near her apartment. Obviously, the dream's landscape changed from time to time.

"My father. He's not who you think he is. And it's important to someone else, too."

Mara took a deep breath, reminding herself that the boy had to abide by the rules. Should he behave like this in person, though, she might just throttle him. These tidbits were increasingly annoying.

"And who do I think he is?" she asked a little sharper than she intended.

Her son shot her a hurt look, prompting an unfamiliar bout of contrition to arise within her. Mara had never been one to watch what she said to people, her son seemed to be an exception.

"I don't know! You're the one who's met him!" he snapped. Apparently he'd inherited her temper. That was food for a thought, as she'd never before wondered what traits of herself she'd find in him. Before, she'd been too worried about actually searching for her child to think of such.

"All right, all right," she grumbled and collapsed in the park bench. Her son sat beside her, drawing one knee up to his chest. He was watching her intently.

"What?" she asked, a little suspiciously, she wasn't used to such close scrutiny – not of this kind anyway. Usually when people watched her it was out of suspicion or desire, his was a look of open curiosity.

"I-I…it's silly," he finished, warily.

"No, what is it? You can tell me," she deliberately gentled her tone, wanting to know what he was thinking. This mother thing was a strange concept, but Mara tended to alienate so many people in her life, usually for a reason, she honestly wanted to try and connect with her son.

"I-I…I was just trying to memorise what you looked like, so when I woke up I'd remember."

"Oh." She felt strange at such an admission. Something occurred to her. "I thought this was my dream."

"I don't know. Maybe it's both of us, maybe it's just one of us, but I feel like I'm here."

"So do I."

He offered her a smile, but it was tremulous. There was a sensation a little like sand slipping through fingers and the seat in the garden was empty.

* * *

Around mid-afternoon Mara figured out why it was that most of her colleagues were avoiding her. She was too cheerful, and apparently that was suspicious. Or rather that was what she managed to pick up from the mind of an unwary aide with a strong projection ability. 

She didn't mind too much, after all she had a lot to be cheerful for. Even though the clues from her dreams had been a _little_ cryptic, to say the least, they were more than she'd ever had to go on before. As she'd had these dreams for the last two nights, there was good reason to assume she'd be getting more clues. Eventually, she would hopefully have enough that she'd be able to put them together and figure them out. She was a smart woman, she was sure she'd be able to do it. Mara didn't allow herself to think about the other possibility.

After a conversation with Talon Karrde about Imperial rumours and whether or not they were investigating them closely enough, she packed up her Coruscant office for the day to go home. Unfortunately, home came with a Jedi Master on her doorstep.

She was beginning to wonder if he was a permanent fixture. He had not been there the previous evening or that morning, but here he was again. Maybe there were exterminators for this kind of pest – she'd have to look into it. Or maybe that was too harsh, perhaps somewhere she could pick up Jedi Master repellent.

"Hello, Mara," he said gravely.

"Skywalker, is your sister refusing to feed you? You're usually unreachable at mealtimes." Her good mood almost vanished at the sight of him, but not quite. A small and well-buried part of her was actually pleased to see him. He had heard her secret; and from at least one person now, she had no need to hide. Maybe she should feel wary at giving him so much power over her, and she didn't understand why she did not, but in the past he'd never given her reason to resent his knowledge of her past. He'd never held it over her.

"I found this in my father's records. It's not much, but I thought you should have it," he told her by way of an answer, handing her a datapad. She took it from him and entered her apartment, waiting for him to follow, before closing the door firmly behind him.

Inside she settled down on the couch and he did also, across from her, both unconsciously mimicking their positions from the evening two days prior. She looked at it warily, recognising it as the type Vader kept his records on. After the Battle of Endor, they must have found their way into Luke's possession.

"They're from a section, that I'd never looked at closely, but when you told me about…your child, I remembered them and went to check from the parts I had skimmed over. There's not much there and I don't think it'll help you much, but like I said I thought you should have it," he finished softly.

If he'd looked over them sooner, she realised, he might have found out about her child before this. The thought was alarming that only Luke's reluctance to closely examine some of his father's darker records kept him from finding out.

She had not switched on the datapad yet and she realised she was afraid. Across from her the Jedi Master watched her expressionlessly. He had said there was not much there, but anything was better than nothing. One shaking finger activated the pad, and once it was on she could see Luke had highlighted the passages she wanted and brought them to the top of the file. There weren't many and it took her only a moment to scan though them.

_The Emperor is most pleased. I cannot fathom why._

I inquired into Jade's current status with my Master. He was amused and informed me it was none of my concern. It is my belief that he arranged the whole incident. My Master is delighted with the success of Jade's project and has granted her two months leave. 

Mara could feel Vader's coolness, his vague interest. He was not truly concerned about the proceedings; he had only noted them as a matter of form. He was curious about what had pleased the Emperor and that was all. She noted he had formed his own opinion about what had happened, and that it was chilling.

Palpatine hadn't exerted that much control over her, had he? The ability to induce her to bed a man and then get pregnant with his child? That was beyond even the Emperor's capabilities, wasn't it? Vader evidently disagreed, but those were his assumptions.

"_He's not who you expect him to be." _The words spoken by her dream-child. According to this record whatever Vader had asked the Emperor had not been answered and he'd never given any indication of an interest in her child's father. So who was that nameless man of nearly seventeen years ago? Had he been a plant of Palpatine, someone to make sure she got pregnant? How was that possible? She was not an expert on the matter, but even she was well aware that once was hardly enough to ensure pregnancy.

"Mara?" She had not been aware of his movements, but suddenly Luke was kneeling beside her. Gently he took one of her hands in his own and rubbed it. She did not shake him off.

"T-this was all?" She struggled unexpectedly with her voice.

"I looked through his later records, but there's nothing there. You're welcome to search for yourself, if you want, though. I asked Leia, if I could see the ones she has – I didn't tell her why – but she only has his very early ones."

She shook her head at his suggestion that she search Vader's records, she was sure whatever he'd done would be thorough. If he said there were no other mentions, she believed him.

"Leia has some of Vader's records?" She had to admit to surprise, she wouldn't have thought the other woman would have kept any.

Luke gave a rueful smile. "We thought there might be a mention of our mother, but there wasn't, and they were the ones that ended up with Leia. I think she just never got around to returning them." He dismissed the topic as being unimportant. Mara knew, though, how much finding his mother had once meant to him, and she doubted that desire had ever completely faded.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. "You're very pale."

"I'm fine!" she snapped, finding some of her usual equilibrium.

So he'd done something very unexpected and very thoughtful. So what?

"Have you eaten yet tonight?" he asked.

"No, why?" she said guardedly.

"Well, I missed dinner at Leia's," he began and she snorted. "So maybe we should get something together," he finished.

She rolled her eyes. "All right, seeing as your sister can't take proper care of you," she took note of his indignant expression, but did not acknowledge it, "maybe ordering in would be nice. I'm not going to be seen out with you, so we stay here."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and when he answered her his tone was a little dry. "Fine, whatever you wish." He took the hand that was not still gripping hers and spread it out, imitating a gracious gesture, mocking her. "Still, if you want strange men leaving your apartment at all hours of the night…"

"Do you want to eat alone?" she threatened.

"No, no, we'll do it your way," he said quickly.

"Good decision," she growled.

The meal was quiet and contemplative; neither seemed all that inclined to speak, though Luke looked as if he might want to from time to time. Mara watched him covertly, but he was a fairly unreadable person and so she didn't gain much from her scrutiny.

A part of her mind was going over her dream from the night before. Her son had been watching her to remember what she looked like, he'd said; she wondered if he could. She still could not recall anything about the way he looked, even though this morning she'd meditated on the topic and tried Jedi recall too. Most likely whoever she had been talking to was not really her child, just a mental representation created by herself. There was a strong possibility it was not even a boy; that it was just the convenient image her sub-conscious had given her.

Of course, if it were her sub-conscious, then it probably was a boy. A new thought occurred to her, which had never done so before: she was a Jedi – or Force-sensitive, at least – while she was pregnant she could have stretched out her senses to communicate with her child. She could have found out then if it were a boy or girl, but she hadn't known that was something she could do, then. And, she realised with a sinking feeling, she wouldn't have been interested in finding out. She'd had as little to do with the baby as she could purposely manage, not wanting to think about the situation. _It_ had interrupted her life. _It_ had made her life difficult. _It_ had made her risk the good graces of the Emperor. _It_ had been little better than a parasite.

She could acutely remember the first time she'd felt her child moving within her. She'd known what it was, of course, having had what to expect clearly outlined to her at the outset of her pregnancy. The experience had horrified her; for the first time, she'd been made completely aware that there was something _alive_ growing inside her.

Ever since she'd begun her search, she'd also gone back, trying to retrieve all her memories of the only time she'd been allowed to spend with her child. It had been hard separating what Mara the Emperor's Hand felt for the child from what Mara the smuggler or Mara the Jedi felt. Most of the memories, despite her attempting to purge the negativity, were tinged with disgust.

"Mara?"

She jerked out of her reverie and noticed that the Jedi Master was still sitting across from her. The table had been cleared and she realised he must have put everything away while she was running over her thoughts.

"What?" she asked, in something less than her usual bark.

"Are you all right? You were so lost in thought, I was beginning to think I'd have to follow you in and bring you back." He smiled but it was only half a joke. Luke could have done that, if he'd thought she was in danger, where she was. Mara hadn't been, but she'd been so far out of it, she hadn't noticed him clearing the table. If he was worried, she guessed – grudgingly – that she understood why.

"I'm fine," she said, coolly, more to regain her usual self than anything.

"I don't know how to talk to you about…this," he said haltingly, and this time his hand gesture indicated everything about her child.

"Then don't," she told him. "It's been sixteen years. I've never told anyone about this, I don't see suddenly why talking should help, now. I've been getting along just fine."

"What about the day before yesterday? What about just now? They don't make me think you're fine."

"Look, Skywalker," she said tiredly, but with just enough annoyance to make him back off. "It all happened a long time ago, there's nothing you can do to help and I wouldn't want you to in any case." She made sure to clip her words, using an emphasis she didn't feel.

"Fine," he murmured with defiant eyes. She felt a slight ache of loneliness, but ignored it.

"I should go," he said with a forced politeness.

"Probably," she agreed coolly. Collecting Vader's datapad, she passed it to him, but he refused it, telling her to keep it – he didn't want it. She was surprised, but guessed that Vader's thoughts were hardly what he was interested in when it came to knowing his father.

At the door, he stood there for a moment, seemingly torn. About what she didn't know and she wasn't going to find out anytime soon because he bade her goodnight and left.

* * *

After Vestaii had gone to bed that night, Taashi painfully washed the dishes, glad that he'd been in a much better mood, and had decided not to take his general unhappiness out on her, Edan or the children. 

The sprained wrist and bruises of two days earlier could have been worse, much worse, but she was glad he wasn't demanding her presence in his bed tonight, like he had done the last couple of nights. She didn't want the feeling of him over her tonight, in her, taking his fill. Usually, though, in his calmer moods he wasn't all that interested. She didn't stop to question why, she was just thankful for it.

In some ways, it was more painful than his fists, which was probably why he demanded it. There had been a time when he'd taken care to make love to her, a time when their partnership had been equal, and a time when he'd never have hit her out of anger. Then her grandfather, their trainer and their master, had died and everything had changed.

She wiped a tear out of her eyes, it would help her none. She had to be strong for the children. She couldn't help them yet, but one day the savings she'd been quietly putting aside might be enough to get them off-world. Maybe even as far as Yavin 4, where they could be real Jedi. She only hoped that Master Skywalker would accept them. She'd heard it was a lot easier to be admitted to be a Jedi in the New Republic than it had been when her great-grandmother had been forced to leave. Maybe, maybe, _maybe…_

"Taashi?"

She started violently, but it was only Edan.

"The children?" she asked, hating the tone of her voice. The weakness of it, and the way she needed to rely on a sixteen-year-old boy. She was the adult here, the one who was supposed to be strong.

"They're asleep. Gala's still miserable though, she hates it when he hits you, and now she feels guilty because she thinks her outburst the other night has made him hit you more."

"It's not true! How—"

"I know," he answered softly. "I tried to tell her, but I don't know that she believed me. You have to get them away from here!"

"I know," she gently repeated him. She needed to get Edan away from here, as well.

Perhaps he heard her, perhaps he didn't, but he answered her all the same. "It's not me, you need to worry about, you know. If you, Gala and Levon weren't here, and I moved to the other side of the planet I doubt he'd take the time to find me. You on the other hand – what about your baby?"

Ice poured through Taashi's veins. "Damn it, Edan! How did you find out about that? Even Vestaii doesn't know!" she hissed, making sure to keep her voice down. It wouldn't do to have her husband wake.

"Vestaii hasn't heard you spilling your guts every morning for the last week. After hearing that, it didn't take too much of an effort for me to check." He sounded vaguely smug and she didn't blame him, that was quite good work on his part. Taashi had more than seventeen years of training on him. To be able to scan her without her knowledge was very good.

She snorted. "If you think I'm going to congratulate you for that…" But he was grinning at her, and in a way she was proud of him. Here was another one who should go to the Jedi Academy. He was very powerful and Taashi knew her grandfather had worried about his ability to teach Edan to control himself properly, and Taashi knew that she was in even less of a position to do so. Still, if he could do something like that, gently, without her knowledge, it showed he had good control. Fine workings were harder than grand sweeps.

He'd never shown any signs of indulging in anger either, unlike Vestaii. She worried, though, that if he or the children spent too much time around Vestaii they might pick up on his habits. She'd stopped training Gala and Levon years ago, feeling that as little exposure to using the Force as possible was best, and they'd been so young then anyway. Edan was harder; he'd had enough that if he didn't keep up work it would be all too easy for him to be tempted into doing something he shouldn't. Both he and Taashi kept up with meditation and small exercises when Vestaii wasn't around. Vestaii was indiscriminate when it came to Force use. He found it a handy weapon.

Edan was stacking the dishes away for her. Looking at him, she felt guilty. He'd turned sixteen two days ago and it had barely been acknowledged. "Edan, it was your birthday, and things didn't go so well—"

"Don't worry about it," he told her, but she could hear that it mattered to him, it mattered a lot. She sniffled, trying to fight back more tears, but they wouldn't be held back – not this time. Dammit, he deserved better, they all deserved better than this!

She put her hands on the edge of the sink, turning away from Edan at the pantry. She tried so hard to stop, but found she couldn't. Her sobs were silent – even now she didn't want to risk waking Vestaii – but messy. She scrubbed at her face, but that only made her bruises hurt more. Salt got into the graze on her chin, stinging.

Beside her there was a flutter of movement and she could feel Edan's uncertainty as he wondered how to comfort her, then felt the sharp tinge of his own grief. She tilted her face towards him and saw he too was crying, but he was fighting even harder not to, and she understood why. He was sixteen, and a boy, he wasn't supposed to cry. If she'd been any less miserable she'd have rolled her eyes.

He looked like the little child he'd been at Parteb's funeral, lost, confused, alone and not understanding why. Back then she'd held him on her lap and whispered comforting words to him. The memory was enough to make her get a grip on her emotions and she gathered him in her arms, much like she'd done ten years ago. He buried his head in her neck and she stroked his back, murmuring to him gently. Right now saviour might be beyond her abilities, but she could do mother or sister.

Taking a reading of his feelings, showed a well of grief, fear and misery. Later she would have to recommend he meditate on them – she would have to as well – but the guilt was a surprise. Looking a little deeper, she realised he felt he should be protecting her and the children more.

Completely untrue. She needed to protect him, not the other way around. When he'd calmed down she pulled back and looked at him. "Edan, you must never, ever feel guilty for what Vestaii does; this is his illness not yours, and as much as it hurts to admit it, not mine."

"If I was bigger, or faster…"

"You'd be able to hit him back, and if you did, you'd run the risk of doing so in anger."

"Protecting someone, or yourself, isn't the dark side," he said stubbornly, his eyes dark and his jaw firm.

"It is if you strike out of anger. Intentions don't count if you use anger or fear to carry them out." She placed her hands on each of his shoulders, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the white bandages on her left wrist. "You must remember this, Edan."

Her great-grandmother and her grandfather, while they had taught self-defence, had been firm about how it should be used. If they'd had their way it would be not at all. Much of what her grandfather had taught and the faint memories of her great-grandmother hovering over her with strict resonance had been about not using what she'd learned. She'd been four when the former Jedi had died and she still viewed those particular memories with trepidation.

Combat skills were only to be used to uphold peace in the galaxy and one could not go about upholding peace with violence. Only in the direst of circumstances should it be used, which was why the last lightsabre to be built in this family had been Merta a'Tahm's, before she'd left the Jedi Order. Or was kicked out – no one had been very clear on the details.

"I'll keep it in mind," muttered Edan, now.

"Good," she said, ignoring the slightly sarcastic edge to his words. "It's time for you to go to bed, anyway. And me," she added yawning, tired, feeling dry and stuffed up from her earlier tears. She gently pushed him in the direction of his room.

"And I want you to meditate on your feelings of guilt."

"Yes, Master," he said, this time not bothering to tone down the sarcasm. "Goodnight, Taashi."

She gave him a fond smile. "Goodnight, Edan, may your sleep be restful and your dreams pleasant." The old benediction slipped off her tongue and she wondered at it. She hadn't used it in years, hadn't really felt it was prudent; mostly it seemed when your waking life was a nightmare, your dreams followed pattern. Much better, it often seemed, to not dream at all.

As he left the kitchen, he mumbled something that could have been, "I hope."

**

* * *

Words of wisdom, condemnation and admiration will be gladly received.**


End file.
